Then there were those who lived for many years many well into their 90’s and 100’s. I used to wonder why my husband couldn’t have been one of those people.I often wonder about the lives of those who are interred and who they once were when they were here among us.
I love to visit Chuck’s gravesite, as the surrounding area is a beautiful, bucolic setting, where I’m able to just sit, think, pray,meditate, and weep. I can be at one with my thoughts as I consider this my private time with Chuck.
I haven’t always been eager to go visit Chuck’s crypt.In fact,I recall just making that first visit was quite a hurdle which I didn’t easily jump. The folks in my bereavement group had all been to visit their spouses’ graves. Some had been going once a week, and others have been several times since the death of their spouses. All,with no exception,felt closest to him or her there. I was a bit anxious about making that first visit and expressed my apprehension to the group. They were nonjudgmental, kind, empathetic and assured me that when I was ready, I would know and I would go.
One afternoon I announced to them that I was going to make my first visit,which was by then, some five months since Chuck had passed away. I guess by telling them, it was a way of ensuring that I would definitely make that trip so as not to disappoint any of them. However, I knew they weren’t really like that, judgy, condemning, critical. This group’s ability to accept each of us where we were is what endeared these folks to me. They knew that every new step was tough and visiting the spouse’s gravesite for the first time was up there with “a tough thing”.
The day I decided to go I called a cab, a number that I found among a bunch of business cards. I asked the driver to wait for me as I didn’t know what to expect and I wanted to be able to readily escape should I need to.
I bought some beautiful pink roses and a vase and made my way up to the cemetery. My driver, Sergio, reminded me that he had driven me once before several months earlier,before Chuck had passed away. Sergio did not know the details of my life, and I told him that my husband had been ill and had died. He was very, very sympathetic, expressing condolences and offering words of support. This driver, my Sergio, would soon become my lifelong friend and a part of my extended family. He would always look out for me as I grieved and healed. We made our way up to the cemetery navigating the twists and turns of the winding road, riding past scores of tombstones and monuments, until we finally arrived at my destination.
I got out of the car, and I walked over to his crypt. When I saw his name that had been carved into the marble along with his date of birth and his date of death, it made the reality and finality of Chuck’s death all the more real. I was shaken, and I cried and placed the flowers in the water in the vase at his gravesite. I sat inside, and walked around praying to myself and crying, praying and crying. It was truly a pitiful moment. Me of the Chuck and Yvonne team, now all alone missing and longing to see my husband at least one more time. I knew that this was the closest I would get to being with him again, but it was an overwhelming experience, one which shook me to my core on that beautiful day in a pastoral setting as I came to grips with being a fresh widow.
Soon after I got back into Sergio’s car and asked him to drive me to the nearest Home Depot. I needed to roam mindlessly somewhere as I gathered my composure and allowed my visit to sink in. I wanted to be indoors as I felt vulnerable and the gigantic Home Depot did the trick. I roamed the huge store and as I did I was able to shake off some of the sadness and apprehension while searching for items that would eventually be used to transform my home from the place that Chuck I shared,to a place that I would continue to inhabit and live on my own. It proved to be a distraction from the jolting experience I’d just had.
I would visit the cemetery again that year several times as well as the next. Since that time I haven’t gone up as frequently as I had in the beginning, as the desire to go has diminished somewhat. I know I can visit with him anytime, anywhere, but the beautiful setting and the peaceful surroundings block out the distractions of my everyday life, ensuring that all my attention will be focused on thoughts of Chuck, who he was, who we were together, and the impact he had on my life.
Everyone who loses a spouse will face that first time that they will have to make their way to their husbands’ and wives’ graves. If they had been cremated there may be the question of what to do with the ashes, which can cause some consternation as well.
The idea that you’re going somewhere outside of your home to visit a place which holds the spouse’s remains can be anxiety producing at first,as well as a bit surreal. There are many challenges women face as they transition from married to widowhood. Coming to terms with the fact that they are no longer a part of a marital partnership, and that they will never see their spouse alive again is truly cemented once one views where their partner’s remains have been laid.
The sight of my husband’s date of birth and death engraved in the marble registered onto my brain. I stood there frozen under the glare of that hot sun. Soon, the shock of the pain gave way to an arresting calm. Eventually, it became clear to me that I was adjusting to the fact that Chuck was no longer in pain from his cancer and was finally at peace. That small comforting thought helped me to finally accept the reality of my circumstance and the finality of Chuck’s. My subsequent visits would thus become less daunting as I visited Chuck in his final resting place.
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To read more about my grief journey and how you can navigate yours read Brave in a New World: A Guide to Grieving the Loss of a Spouse, available on Amazon.com http://tinyurl.com/jnjs5fu
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